


Hidden

by gracedameron



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Gay Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, are we really surprised that i wrote another sprace fic, canon era setting, mild language warning for spot conlon, mild warning for underage drinking, secret romance, there's a lot of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 15:22:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14191884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracedameron/pseuds/gracedameron
Summary: Spot and Race know that they aren't allowed to be together, but that doesn't stop them from trying. (writing prompts for "forbidden kiss", "accidentally witnessed kiss", and "we can never be together kiss")





	Hidden

**Author's Note:**

> my love Disney prompted me angst prompts like months ago and I wrote them but never got to post them! so here they are, in order: Forbidden Kiss, Accidentally Witnessed Kiss, and We Can Never Be Together Kiss. I knew I wanted to make them for the canon era Sprace and I'm pretty happy with the extremely angsty results. Enjoy!

*

Race was drunk. Well, kinda drunk. Drunk enough. Poker every Thursday usually included a few bottles of bootlegged beer, but Race had a particularly good week at Sheepshead. Which meant extra beers, which meant extra fun. Drunk Race was a far more focused poker player, and far looser with his insults and his competitive streak burned bright.

A night of card games turned into a late night of drinking the last of the beers with Spot, alone in his room. Race loved the Brooklyn lodging house. Manhattan was home, familiar, comfortable, worn. But Brooklyn...Brooklyn was something else. Being in the Brooklyn house gave Racetrack a sense of pride and power that he didn’t necessarily have in Manhattan. He was only in Brooklyn because he’d earned that privilege. He was in Brooklyn because Spot Conlon _let him_. He was in Brooklyn because Spot asked him to stay. He was in Spot’s room, not for the first time, talking late into the night about everything and anything, because Spot wanted him there.

It was dark, just moonlight lighting up Spot’s attic bedroom. Race was lying on Spot’s bed, giggling as he felt his head swirling with a mixture of alcohol and exhaustion from a long day. He’d been up since the crack of dawn, and it was well past midnight now. But Race wasn’t tired. Not even a little bit.

“You’s real sweetheart, Spotty,” Race slurred, grinning as Spot shoved him affectionately.

“Shuddap.” Spot giggled, actually _giggled_ , and it was the most beautiful thing Race had ever heard. He giggled back, grinning as Spot pulled him up from the bed and held both of Race’s shoulders in his strong hands.

“You’s so sweet an’ nice lettin’ me stay wit’ ya an’ ya’s real pretty an’ funny an’-” Race giggled more, leaning his forehead to Spot’s, giddy with lightheadedness and drunk enough not to care about how affectionate he was being.

“You’s pretty too.” Spot said, catching Race’s attention. Spot’s words were slurred as well and his hands gently slid down Race’s shoulders, gently running across Race’s toned biceps.

“Yeah?” Race felt his skin prickle with goosebumps as Spot’s hands grew even more gentle, gentler than he knew Spot Conlon was capable of.

“Yeah.” Spot’s words were quiet and before either of them knew what was happening, Spot’s mouth was on Race’s and their hands were in each other’s hair and Race was positive he’d never felt this happy in his life. The kiss ended almost abruptly as it started, Spot’s eyes fluttering open, their faces still so close that Race felt Spot’s breath on his neck and eyelashes brush against his cheek.

“Shit.” Spot whispered, pushing back from Race as his happiness dissipated and was replaced with fear.

Race watched Spot as he pushed away from him, frowning.

“No,” Race whispered, “Come back.” He was drunk, that’s what this was.

“Why?”

“Just….” Race stumbled a little as he slid across the small bed to Spot, “C’mere.” Race whispered, leaning over and finding Spot’s lips again, squeaking between kisses as Spot grabbed his waist and tugged him onto his lap, their kisses growing more and more passionate. This wasn’t the first time their nights ended this way, but they were both getting bolder the more often it happened. Spot’s teeth nipped at Race’s lip and Race’s fingernails dug into Spot’s shoulders as he pushed him back against the thin mattress, rolling over to Spot’s side as their kisses slowed and they looked at one another in the dim room.

“We’s drunk.” Spot whispered, his voice hoarse. Race searched Spot’s expression, noting the masked sad look in his eyes. Spot’s eyes were hidden in shadows as he glanced away, breaking their eye contact.

“I ain’t that drunk.” Race whispered back, trying to get Spot’s eyes to meet his again. He needed the comfort he found in Spot’s eyes. The reassurance that what they had was meaningful, and wouldn’t disappear with the daylight. Every time Race saw Spot and looked in his eyes he saw that reassurance, that promise, that they meant something to one another.

Spot didn’t look up.

“You’s gotta be, Tony.” he said softly, clear that he wasn’t that drunk either. “We’s drunk.”

Race slid his hand into Spot’s.

“We’s just drunk.” He agreed. “‘s all.”

Spot kissed Race’s neck lightly. “Yeah.”

Race guided Spot’s hand to his hip, closing the gap between them and kissing Spot back.

“We oughta get drunk more often.” Race muttered between kisses, Spot laughing lightly.

“We really oughta.” he agreed.

Race would give anything not to be Spot’s drunken mistake, to be able to talk about their sloppy drunk kisses and touches and conversations when they were sober and had clear heads. He’d do anything to be able to tell Spot just how being around him felt. How kissing Spot made Racetrack feel like he was floating on air. How even on the worst days, just the _thought_ of Spot made Race’s heart flutter. He wanted to put it all in words.

But he never could. That wasn’t how this worked. They weren’t supposed to do this, or like this, or be together. They weren’t supposed to be this happy. They couldn’t talk about it, because talking about it made it real, and if it were real, they wouldn’t be able to do this anymore. The things they were doing weren’t smart or safe or _right_. They were forbidden.

*

 

Race had been spending more and more time in Brooklyn. Which was fine, he usually made it back before the circulation bell, and if he didn’t, he’d give someone a heads up that he’d be back late. No one really questioned why Racetrack spent so much time in Brooklyn, mostly because no one really wanted to know. If he was getting into trouble with gambling dens, the less anyone else knew, the better. His friends knew how much he liked spending his free afternoons at the Sheepshead Races, and he never missed a poker game with the Brooklyn newboys. It became routine, if you didn’t find Race at his usual sellin’ spot in front of City Hall or the Lodging House in Lower Manhattan, you could almost certainly find him in Brooklyn.

Which is why Jack Kelly was walking across the bridge instead of sellin’ papes on a particularly dreary Tuesday morning. He hadn’t seen Racetrack Higgins in three days, since Saturday night, and when he didn’t show up on Monday to sell, Jack started to get worried. Albert and Jojo hadn’t seen him, Elmer, Specs, Romeo, Buttons...none of the boys had seen Race since Saturday for the evening edition. And the last they’d talked to him, they said he was going to Brooklyn for a card game.

A card game didn’t take three days. So Jack felt like his concern was justified, as was his annoyance for having to search for a seventeen year old boy who should be more responsible than this, costing him his morning edition money, which he’d been planning on saving to take Katherine out to dinner next week for their six month anniversary. Jack’s annoyance with Race’s recklessness grew as he stomped across the bridge and headed directly to the Brooklyn newsies lodging house. If he found Spot, he’d find Race. He was sure of it.

It didn’t take Jack long to find his way to the Brooklyn newsies house, even though he’d only been there twice. He noticed other boys (and girls) sellin’ on the streets, eyeing him warily. His reputation had grown by leaps and bounds after the Strike. He no longer had to prove his place as a borough leader, he was now the famous _Jack Kelly_ . The Jack Kelly who stood up to Joseph Pulitzer and _won_ , the Jack Kelly who’d rallied all the New York boroughs and fought the cops and the bulls and got fair pay for himself and his friends and all the working kids in New York. Jack Kelly who led the Children’s Crusade. Jack Kelly who was dating Pulitzer’s daughter. Jack Kelly who was feared about as much as Spot Conlon was. Jack let that confidence from the respect and healthy fear from the other kids in Brooklyn carry him as he walked the unfamiliar streets and found his way to the lodging house with feigned confidence.

Jack was about to knock on the door when he saw a familiar long shadow in the alley next to the building. He hesitated, glancing around before starting into the shady alley, eyes wide as he stopped short at the scene before him. Jack found Race and Spot both in the alley, tangled in one another’s arms, lips locked in a series of rather passionate kisses. Jack was too shocked to say anything, trying to avert his gaze and close his gaping mouth, knowing this moment was not meant to be seen by anyone.

Spot’s kisses slowed as he glanced over Race’s shoulder and saw Jack standing there. He pushed Race away from him a little too harshly, and Race tripped backwards, hitting into the brick wall behind him, hard. He yelped a little with surprise, and Spot immediately softened his panic to make sure he was okay, eyes flashing an apology for shoving him away.

“J-Jack?” Race wiped at his mouth and adjusted his shirt, groaning a little at his stinging scraped elbow.

“What the _fuck_ are you doin’ ‘ere, Kelly?” Spot growled, fists balled at his sides ready to attack. “I’ll soak ya, I swears it,” He threatened, starting toward Jack, who didn’t back down. “This is _my_ turf, you ain’t got no power’s here, I’ll-”

“Spotty, stop.” Race said softly, pulling Spot back, Spot yanking from his grip.

“Where’s ya been, Racetrack?” Jack said firmly, ignoring Spot’s threats, looking to Race instead. “It’s been three days, what the _hell_ ’s ya thinkin’?”

Race’s face was flushed with embarrassment and fear, and he shook his head a little.

“I...I’m real sorry Jackie. I didn’t….I was just…” he could feel his heart rate rising, glancing at Spot nervously. Race could feel his world crashing down around him and every secret he held so close to his heart was now exposed. He felt like someone was squeezing his lungs, the air seeping right out and refusing to go back in. He gulped, trying to force air back inside, but his lungs weren’t cooperating.

“C’mon.” Jack told him, still watching Spot warily. “You’n me’s goin’ back ta Manhattan. This ain’tcha turf, Racetrack.”

Spot’s knuckles were white from how tightly his fists were clenched.

“You watch it, Kelly.” Spot snapped, “He’s just as much Brooklyn as me an’ I ain’t lettin’ ya-”

Jack huffed, glaring at Spot, taking a step toward him. “He _ain’t_ Brooklyn. An’ you ain’t doin’ _nothin’_ ta me or ta him.”

Spot’s expression flashed from anger, to pain, back to anger. He hauled back, ready to punch Jack, but Race unfroze from where he was standing behind Spot and hurried to stand between the two borough leaders.

“Stop.” Race insisted firmly, putting one hand on Spot’s arm, glancing at Jack and then turning to meet Spot’s eyes, apologies filling his gaze. “Don’t.” his voice shook, and Spot’s expression softened.

Spot huffed and lowered his fists. Race looked back to Jack, who reached out for Race’s arm to pull him away. Race instinctively flinched and held his hands up to defend himself, and Jack’s stomach sank. He immediately softened and instead gently placed a comforting hand on Race’s shoulder as Race cautiously lowered his arms.

“Let’s go.” Jack said, his tone gentle. “C’mon.”

Race swallowed but nodded, following Jack from the alley.

Spot grabbed the back of Jack’s shirt and yanked him backwards, Jack twisting quickly to face him.

“You tell anyone ‘bout this, you’s gonna wish you was dead.” Spot said darkly, Jack’s shirt still in his fist. He looked over Jack’s shoulder to Race, who wrapped his arms around himself as he stood off to the side. “An’ if ya hurt _him_ ,” Spot continued, tightening his grip on Jack’s shirt even further, pulling him down to his level so their faces were only inches apart. “You _is_ dead.”

Jack shoved Spot’s hands away from him, strongly forcing his way past the shorter boy.

“I ain’t hurtin’ nobody.” Jack insisted, “Maybe _you’s_ the one what oughta be worried ‘bout hurtin’ Racer, yeah?”

Spot looked taken aback for a second, Jack’s words stinging the longer they hung in the air. With one verbal jab, Jack had disarmed Spot and left him wounded. Spot looked to Race, who had tears hanging in his eyes, trying fiercely not to let them fall down his cheeks. Race looked away, unable to meet Spot’s eyes.

“Race,” Jack said, hand firm on his friend’s shoulder, “Let’s get goin’.”

Race nodded, wordlessly following Jack, glancing back at Spot one more time. Spot looked lost, a mixture of angry and distraught, his hands no longer in fists, just hanging limply at his sides as he watched Race walk away. They met eyes, and Race saw all the unspoken promises and reassurances he needed, and nodded. They’d be okay, they’d make this work.

“ _Thursday._ ” Race mouthed, and Spot nodded.

_Thursday._

*

Jack was silent as he and Race started the long trek over the Brooklyn bridge, Race’s arms still wrapped around himself, as if he were holding himself together. Jack was trying to figure out what to say, but didn’t have words. Nothing he could say was going to make Race feel better, and nothing he could say would erase what he saw. So they walked in awkward silence across the bridge, wind whipping around them. Jack glanced at Race next to him, noticing the barely held back tears in the taller boy’s eyes.

“I ain’t gonna say nothin’ ta no one.” Jack said softly, and Race nodded, acknowledging he heard him. “You’s my brother, Racetrack. ‘m gonna protect ya.” Jack sighed a little, shaking his head. “You wanna tell me why you’s disappeared fer three days an’ had me an’ the boys worried ‘bout ya?”

Race swallowed, wiping at his nose a little. “I uh...the weather was bad, so I...I’s just stayed wit’ the boys in Brooklyn. I didn’t mean ta be gone so long, Jackie. I…” He frowned, “I guess I lost track’a time.”

“Yeah.” Jack said quietly. They kept walking, Jack politely ignoring Race’s soft sniffing as he tried to force away his emotions. After a few more minutes of walking, Jack spoke again.

“Listen Racer,” he started, “I needja focused, yeah? I ain’t gonna be ‘round as much once I’s start workin’ that new gig full time. Runnin’ the Manhattan union is a full time gig too. You’s gonna have a lotta kiddos lookin’ up ta you an’ countin’ on ya. I need ta know that you’s gonna be able ta do it.”

“Ya know I can.” Race said earnestly, uncrossing his arms and taking a step closer to Jack. When Jack asked Race if he wanted to be the new leader of Manhattan a few weeks back, Race immediately jumped at the opportunity. He’d been Jack’s second in command of the Manhattan Newsies for years, and after the strike he really stepped up and proved himself as a leader, showing Jack he was ready for more responsibility as Jack accepted the illustration job at the New York World and prepared to step down as leader of the Newsies.

“I do know it.” Jack agreed. “But that means you can’t go an’ disappear in Brooklyn again, yeah?”

Race nodded. “Yeah.” he said softly, trying to hide his heartbreak.

“And…” Jack hesitated, not sure how to say the rest of what he wanted to say. Jack slung his arm around Race’s shoulders, his voice kind. “When you’s in charge...it ain’t easy. There’s folks what’s gonna try an’ take ‘vantage of ya. Ya’s gonna inherit my enemies. We got kids in Bronx who’d soak one’a our boys on sight. An’ you gotta watch for the gangs down in Harlem an’ the kids in the Upper East Side who don’t know ‘bout turf rules. There’s a lotta stuff’s ya gotta keep track’a.”

“I know, Jack.” Race insisted, “I’s been doin’ this a long time too. ‘tween you an’ Spot, I know plen’y ‘bout runnin’ a borough of Newsies.”

Jack moved his hand so it gripped Race’s shoulder tight. “So’s ya know that the folks what don’t like ya, are gonna find stuff ta use against ya.”

Race met Jack’s eyes briefly and nodded. “Yeah.”

“I don’t wanna see ya get hurt, Anthony.” Jack said softly, and that was all it took for Race’s eyes to overflow with the tears he’d been bravely holding back since Jack caught him and Spot in Brooklyn. Jack stopped walking as Race stopped short and hid his face in his hands as he cried.

“Ay,” Jack said softly, gently rubbing Race’s back as he pulled him into a comforting hug. “It’s okay, Racer.”

Race shook his head, letting Jack hug him, wiping at his eyes and trying to pull himself together.

“It ain’t fair.” Race muttered brokenly, “It just ain’t fair.”

“I know it ain’t.” Jack agreed, “‘m sorry, Racetrack.”

Race shook his head, wiping at his face. “It’s my fault.” he said, “Don’t be sorry.”

Jack didn’t know what to say, simply patting Race’s back. He wanted to say more, he wanted to take away his friend’s hurt, but he didn’t know how.

“Whatever’s goin’ on ‘tween you an’ Spot-”

Race shook his head, interrupting Jack. “Don’t.” he said softly, “It’s….” he sniffed. “It’s nothin’.” Race’s voice cracked and Jack felt a pang of sadness. He just nodded, assuring Race he understood, and that his secrets were safe with him.

But Jack knew better. He’d always known that Spot Conlon was much more than _nothin’_ , to Race, but now he knew why. And he kinda wished he didn’t, so he could let Race’s secrets stay secrets for a little while longer. Whatever was happening between them was just ruined and it was Jack’s fault, and he was trying to convince himself that this was good; he was protecting Race.

_Better me th‘n someone else._

*

“Happy Thursday, ladies an’ gents!” Racetrack said with a grin as he rounded the corner of the hall in the Brooklyn Newsie’s lodging house, taking his usual seat at the makeshift poker table set up in the common room. “Who’s ready ta play some poker?”

“Ayyyy, we’s was bettin’ on whether or not ya’d show t’night.” Hotshot said with a smirk, leaning back in his stool, Spot kicking at it under him so the boy tumbled backwards.

“Dammit, Spot,” Hotshot grumbled as he picked himself up off the ground.

“Oooh, bets?” Race smiled wide. “Who won?”

Spot held out his hand and all the other newsies at the table pressed coins into his waiting palm, making Race laugh. Race met Spot’s eyes as he collected his winnings, a knowing glance passing between them. Spot let a little smirk play at the corners of his unamused expression.

“Kelly didn’t kill ya for loiterin’ ‘round here all weekend?” Raphaela asked, tightening her braid over her shoulder.

“Who, Jackie? Nah.” Race snorted. “He ain’t so scary.”

“Sure had me fooled,” Hotshot said flatly, “Saw ‘im ‘round earlier in’na week lookin’ for ya. Looked pissed.”

Spot glanced at Hotshot, narrowing his eyes slightly before looking back to the deck of cards in his hand.

“Pfft. He got ova’ it. Someone deal me in.” Race said firmly, and Spot did, tossing cards around the table so the game could begin.

Two hours of poker later, some of the newsies gave up and went to bed, knowing they’d be up at the crack of dawn with the circulation bell to get to work. Only a handful of kids were left at the table.

“I’m out.” Hotshot muttered, shaking his head as he tossed his cards into the center of the table. “An’ I’m turnin’ in. See ya next week, Racer?”

Race shifted a little, not looking up from his cards. “I uh...this’ll be my last game for a while, bud. Gotta lot goin’ down in ‘Hattan these days. I’ll see ‘ya ‘round.”

Hotshot shrugged and waved a little. “See ‘ya ‘round then. Maybe I’ll get ta win fer once.” he grumbled as he started up the stairs.

Race purposefully avoided Spot’s gaze even though he could feel Spot’s warm brown eyes boring holes into him.

“I fold.” Raphaela muttered, “Next time you come ‘round maybe ya can teach me how ta actually _win_ at poker, ay Race?”

Race snorted. “You got it, ‘Ella. Night.”

After Race won the next hand, the rest of the kids at the table folded and went to bed as well, so only Spot and Race were left to clean up the cards in silence. They’d usually fill this time with laughter and jokes and small talk before Spot would invite Race back to his room for the rest of the evening. But instead of the jokes and chats, the air between them was cold and quiet. Spot didn’t meet Race’s eyes as he cleaned up the cards, shoving them back in the beat up cardboard box, kicking the stools and overturned crates away from the center of the room and back against the walls. Spot sighed as he finished, glancing at Race, who only held his gaze for a second before looking away again.

Spot turned and started up the stairs, and Race shifted a little uncomfortably.

“Spotty?” he asked with uncertainty, and Spot turned around, gesturing for Race to follow him.

Race did, starting up the stairs quietly behind him, Spot’s hand slipping into Race’s behind him for a brief second, his thumb brushing across the top of Race’s hand before it let go and continued up the stairs and then up the ladder to Spot’s attic bedroom. Once safely inside with the attic door closed, Race felt the awkwardness from downstairs fill the air around them.

“Kelly ain’t mad or nothin’?” Spot said after a few uncomfortable quiet seconds.

Race shook his head. “Nah. An’ he ain’t gonna say nothin’, neither.”

“Yeah.” Spot sighed, sitting down on his bed, Race sitting next to him. “He’s makin’ ya stay in ‘Hattan though?” Spot asked, and Race puffed his chest a little.

“He ain’t _makin’_ me do nothin’. He’s promotin’ me. ‘M gonna be in charge’a the Manhattan Newsies startin’ in a week.”

Spot’s eyes widened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Spot blinked and then grinned. “Race...that’s _great_. You an’ me, leadin’ the boroughs! ‘m so proud’a ya!!”

Race allowed himself a little smile. “Thanks, Spotty.”

“I get it then.” he added, “Why ya can’t come ‘round so much. ‘s a full time job. You see how little time I got’s ta run ‘round even when we’s in Brooklyn still. You’s gonna have a lot on ya plate, ‘specially in Manhattan. Kelly’s got big shoes ta fill.”

“Don’t I know it.” Race muttered, tugging his hat off his head and running a hand through his messy curls. “I’m....I know I can do it, but I really… I dunno. I’ll...I’ll miss this.”

Spot nodded, leaning a little closer to Race. “I’ll miss it too.” he agreed simply.

Their eyes met, emotion rushing between them in waves. Race inched closer, hand twitching on the mattress next to Spot before their hands carefully intertwined.

“It was my fault,” Race whispered, “Gettin’ caught.”

“Ain’tcha fault.” Spot insisted, shaking his head.

“I got careless.” he admitted. “I didn’t think Jack’d come lookin’ fer me. ‘m glad it was him what saw us, an’ it wan’nt no one else.”

“We both got careless.” Spot’s grip on Race’s hand tightened. “Don’t blame everythin’ just on you.”

“It don’t matter.” Race said softly, shrugging a little. “We’s just...we’s gotta forget it, right?” he looked up to meet Spot’s eyes. “All’a it?”

Spot swallowed hard. He practically saw the physical shift in Race’s demeanor, and within a second the idealistic, optimistic teen was gone and replaced with a logical, accepting, hardened adult. Spot saw too much of himself in Race’s beautiful blue eyes. He saw him harden up and saw his usually soft features turn to stone as he resigned himself to the truths they both knew they’d have to face sooner or later.

“I guess so.” Spot whispered, his voice threatening to crack but him refusing to let it.

Race hesitated, the idealistic teen popping back up in distress. “I…” he looked conflicted, pressing his face into Spot’s strong shoulder. “I don’t wanna forget it, Sean.” he said softly, “I don’t want this.” Race’s voice cracked and Spot winced as he wrapped an arm around Race’s shoulders and held him tight.

Spot didn’t know what to say, instead lifting Race’s face from his shoulder and looking in his watery blue eyes. He felt tears pricking in the back of his own eyes as he leaned forward and gently found Race’s lips with his own, kissing him like their lives depended on it. Race whimpered between kisses as tears started to slip down his cheeks but he didn’t care, kissing Spot back, one of his hands finding its way to his hair, the other wrapping around Spot’s waist. Spot savored the familiar taste of unlit cigars on Race’s mouth, wishing it’d never had to end. Race’s hand ran up Spot’s bicep, gripping his shoulder tight.

When the two finally broke for air, they rested their foreheads against one another’s.

“I don’t wanna forget, neither, Tony.” Spot whispered breathlessly, and Race nodded.

Spot leaned forward and kissed Race again, his kisses hitting the side of Race’s mouth as he turned away.

“We can’t,” Race said, his voice cracking as his logical side returned. “We oughta be smart an’ quit messin’ ‘round. We’s only gonna get hurt, Spot. You know it.”

Spot nodded. He hated hearing the facts he’d been telling himself since the day he met Race, come out of Race’s mouth. It sounded wrong. Race was always the one who said “See ya Thursday.” Race was the one who planned days at Coney Island. Race was the one who showed Spot how fun it could be to be _yourself_ , how freeing it was to be happy and in lo-…

“Yeah.” Spot’s voice was gravely. He found Race’s hands and squeezed them tight. “I know that’ya’s right.”

“But?” Race asked.

“No buts.” Spot admitted sadly. “I know it.” They shifted so they sat across from each other, meeting one another’s eyes seriously.

“Listen...You’s always welcome in Brooklyn, Racer. An’ long as I’s got anythin’ ta do wit’ it, Manhattan’s always got Brooklyn as an ally.” Spot told him, “‘m always behind ya.”

“Allies.” Race nodded, smiling a little as he wiped his face on his sleeve. “I like that.”

“It’s somethin’ we’ll always be.” Spot told him, their hands still intertwined and his tone bittersweet.

“Guess that means we’ll have to have borough meetin’s once in a while, yeah?” Race asked, and Spot nodded.

“You bet. You eva’ need anythin’, ya know you can call me.”

“Thanks, Spotty.” Race wiped at his face again, sniffing as he composed himself. “I...I oughta go.”

“Ya sure ya can’t stay?” Spot asked, “One more time?”

Race shook his head, sticking his hat back on as he stood up from Spot’s bed. “Nah. I got kids waitin’ on me. But...I’ll see ya ‘round, okay?”

Spot nodded, trying fiercely not to get emotional at how final that _‘see ya ‘round’_ felt. “Yeah, okay.”

Race paced by the door that led down from the attic for a second before hurrying back to Spot’s side and quickly kissing his lips again, surprising him with the urgency of the kiss. Race had tears in his eyes as he took a step back.

“Okay. I gotta go. I’ll see ya. And I...I’m…” he took a deep breath. “I’ll always...always lo-” His voice caught, and he couldn’t finish his sentence no matter how badly he wanted to.

Spot blinked away tears that he’d never ever admit to being there, and nodded solemnly.

“Me too.” he whispered brokenly, and Race couldn’t even attempt a smile as he turned and started down the ladder from the attic, wiping at his face, closing the door behind him, and leaving Spot in his room alone.

Spot let silent, angry tears slip down his cheeks as he laid down against his bed and glared at the wall. He shouldn’t have gotten so attached to Race, he shouldn’t have let himself have feelings like this for anyone, especially when he went into it knowing they couldn’t be together. He wished he could make it all go away, so he’d never have to feel like this again. But as he shut his eyes and tried to forget his heartbreak, his mind was already trying to figure out when he could go to Manhattan to see Race again.

Spot knew they could never be together, but he’d be damned if he let that stop him from trying.

*

**Author's Note:**

> wow i really love these boys. 
> 
> as always, I'd love to hear your thoughts!! thank you for reading!!
> 
> tumblr: @gracetrack-higgins


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